


Murmurs

by fictionalheart



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3770950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalheart/pseuds/fictionalheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first he thinks they’re just dreams – little snippets of her voice that come to him when he’s drifting off, flit through his thoughts, and slowly burrow their ways into his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murmurs

**Author's Note:**

> I've watched 1x08 three times in the past ten days, and the idea of Merlin and Morgana being able to communicate telepathically wouldn't leave me alone, so here we are. 
> 
> This is AU post 1x08.

At first he thinks they’re just dreams – little snippets of her voice that come to him when he’s drifting off, flit through his thoughts, and slowly burrow their ways into his heart.

He knows he’s falling for her, knows he has no business doing so.

But then she denounces Uther, and they fight to save the little Druid boy, side by side, magic to magic.

_What if magic isn’t something you choose?_

_What if it chooses you?_

And he knows he’s fallen.

It doesn’t matter that she’s as good as a princess, and he’s nothing more than a serving boy – at least in the eyes of the court. It doesn’t even matter that he gapes at her and brings her flowers when it seems like she barely knows he exists.

Because her voice flits through his ears when he falls asleep, and he knows now that they aren’t dreams but the sound of her magic calling out to his.

 

* * *

 

The voice in his head becomes more frantic as her nightmares become more frequent and Gaius works harder to create new soothing potions.

She doesn’t know that she’s magic, doesn’t know that she isn’t slowly losing her mind.

And so he does what he knows he shouldn’t and answers her subconscious pleas.

 

* * *

 

They start off as quiet murmurs that appease her dreams, but then they turn into stories that he whispers to her from across the castle to lull her back to sleep.

He tells her of brilliant sorceresses and magical flowers and healing potions and how beautiful he thinks she is when her hair catches the early morning light in the courtyard. He whispers and she listens, and when he stares at her across the dining hall, she stares back, and it’s all he can do not to silently call out to her.

 

* * *

  

But then his mother comes to Camelot, and they all go off to Ealdor. They sleep in the woods and in his childhood home, and only once does she wake gasping from a nightmare and soundlessly beckon him.

Only then do their eyes shoot open at the same time and meet across the campfire, and only then does she understand that she hasn’t been imagining the soothing voice that comes to her in the middle of the night.

“ _Merlin_?”

His lips curls upwards, and he answers, mouth closed and tone unwavering, “ _Morgana_.”

Panic weaves together with the familiar waves of calm that ebb through her at the sound of his voice. “ _How are you doing this_?”

His eyes flit towards Arthur, fast asleep and ineffectively guarding the campsite. “ _Meet me beyond the trees_?”

Morgana sits and nods, never lifting her gaze from his.

* * *

 

“I didn’t understand at first, either. I heard you calling out, and I thought they were just dreams, but then…”

“Mordred,” she whispers and he nods. “You’re magic.”

“I am.”

Morgana draws a shaky breath and fidgets with the sleeve of her tunic, drawing strength from the tightly woven fabric. “And I’m magic, too.”

“I think you are.” He looks apologetic, almost sad at the confession, and her own countenance wobbles at what it all means.

But then the latent possibilities run through her mind, the stories she’s heard from his patient, silent lips, and she smiles. “I’m glad of it.”

“You are?”

“I think it’s brilliant. Can you really draw flames out of thin air?”

Merlin laughs and looks over his shoulder, making sure they remain unobserved. He gives her a conspiratorial smile and murmurs, _“Forbearnan.”_

A tiny flame shoots out of the palm of his hand and floats before them.

Morgana reaches out to touch but draws her hand back at the heat.

“It’s still fire, Morgana.”

Her lips quirk into a one sided grin, and Merlin mutters and blows on the flame. A small tendril of smoke elegantly wraps itself up around her extended finger to form a rose.

“It’s beautiful. Will you teach me?”   

She looks up to meet his gaze, and she thinks she’s never seen him look as happy as he does when he promises to teach her everything he knows.

* * *

 

He spends the night teaching her spells in the woods. She tries her best to emulate his actions, and she draws a tiny flame from her palm before the sun begins to creep through the branches and sends them crawling back to camp before they're missed.

They ride their horses closer to one another’s as they return to Camelot, silently trading stories and glances as Arthur and Gwen ride ahead, unknowing.

Never again do they question the murmurs in their heads or the feelings that quietly wrap themselves around their hearts.


End file.
